Cold Becoming
by opti-mnff
Summary: The wail of the banshee is an omen of death. Why, of all of them, did it have to be him?


**A/N: **This is a prompt-ish thing from tumblr based on the 3B promo (via matinskifanfiction) that we're all probably a little too familiar with at this point. I guess spoilers? I, of course, don't own Teen Wolf. What kinda crazy person do you think I am? I *only* write fanfiction about it.

Oh.

* * *

The scene played out in her head vividly. Asphalt congealed with red streaks every which way, the contrast between the two highlighted to the point where the crimson was burning an outline around her vision. Rain was falling, spreading ripples throughout the bloody river as she approached a sprawled form on the black slab. Her mind had filtered the surroundings out, leaving the body in focus and sharply defined. Whether Lydia recognized the shape, the body, where this blinding redness seeped from she didn't know or, rather, she refused to let herself believe.

Whatever she had seen changed in an instant.

The rain still fell. Chill night winds sent gentle fingers across her skin in a field of black, save for a disparate ring of light far from her. The cold wind, along with the guiding light, led her towards the circle where a figure lay hunched up against a singular streetlight. The slump in his back persuaded her to quicken her pace. Rain pattered off of her in rivulets, pounding into the ground obliquely and ricocheting into the black spaces around the faintly warm circle. His dark hair lay in contrast to the light surrounding the two of them, shifting around erratically until he jerked his head up to look at Lydia.

The rain stopped, his head froze in place, and Lydia swore she felt the freezing winds rip through her chest into her heart. Those eyes, those stupid, active, always-alive eyes were blank. His stare, the warmth that came from it even when unrequited, seemed to look past her. Perhaps they didn't see at all.

Like someone turned the world back on, the rain crashed back into the ground. Rivers of water accumulated around Lydia until she was up to her knees in the frothing liquid. The surroundings had lit for an instant, images flickering in an out of vision around her. She searched with her hands, hoping to find anything her eyes couldn't, but only grasped for more water. More and more. Rain slammed into her shoulders, forcing her downward. More rain; more pressure. No light.

By the time she had been fully submerged the cool water felt more like a balm than its previous frigid character. Instead of everything going dark, Lydia could make out much more than before underneath the waves and pouring rains: the black, cracked pockmarks of turf and – further out – a familiar ring of light. Feeling energy pour into her muscles, she swam with every ounce of strength toward the light. But, try as she might, the light pulled away from her. Every inch's worth of progress she made was defeated by the retreating lights.

A hollow pain surged in her side after a minute or so of this. Lydia realized she was quickly running out of breath and, at her current rate, she would kill herself through fatigue before she could reach the surface. But that image of the empty look, the stare with no focus, sent another flurry of motion into her leaden limbs. Push, push, push. Lydia swam, kicked, battled against the tension with all her will and might. The rain crackled into the water from above as the light crawled closer and closer towards her. Pressure was gathering in her ears, threatening to expel her skull through her scalp as she pummeled the water in front of her and behind her in a frantic attempt to reach his slumped body.

Just as the light was in her grasp, she saw the streetlight flicker horribly and go out with a definite _clack_. The difference between the water around her and the tears forming in her eyes was noticeable as she reached to grab what she couldn't see. Blinking away the tears she held her breath, willing the scream to stop bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It can't happen like this.

Then it started again. _Tap, tap, tap_. The brisk walk of the rain against the unyielding ground started; _tap_. Now she stood in the middle of a heavily shadowed street, the light of something reflecting a path for her; _tap_. A faint whimper echoed throughout the street, and the sounds seemed to trace a path through the lights. An intangible instinct, something she could barely tell was there to begin with, forced her down the white-strewn path as if a hand was guiding her. _Tap._

_Tap, tap, tap._

Water filled the ditches and potholes around the street, the mysterious lights bouncing between ends of the street with the relentless tempo leaving an eerie corridor of flickering sparks to each side of her. _Tap._

Nearly endless road stretched in front of her until the paths diverged. The light shone both ways, but the strength of the hand pushed her into the left hand path. Continuing down the street, seeing and hearing the rain's dances of mockery around her, Lydia felt that same unknown alarm sound off in her head. This was – _tap _– wrong. Something about this was wrong; _tap_.

Spinning around she set off back to the intersection. Instead, the mysterious force tried to push her back into the lane. Even with her tired legs and needlelike pains in her side, her resolve didn't die. Try as it might, the hand eventually broke down and released her.

The path, the reaching spirals of road descending into a blue, terribly familiar pit sent chills through her the winds couldn't achieve. As every portion of her physical body screamed to be let go and collapse right on the spot, Lydia struggled onward. The rains beat down harder, the tapping become a furious torrent. The wind had all but died for a few moments before renewing itself with incredible vigor, pushing against her and shoving pools of water every which way.

All except for that still, silent pool at the center of the road. All except for where _he _had to be, where he _was_.

At the basin, the winds howled overhead and the rains pounded downward. Lydia didn't try to shield herself – at this point her skin was numb. There was only one goal, one objective. If she asked herself why or what it was, there was a cruel suspicion that she would fail once again. Instead she closed her eyes, reaching down into the opaque pool. She met no resistance, no struggle from the elements or her own body like before.

She found it. A ruffle in a shirt, the hitch in his jeans… whatever it had been she pulled, tugging with whatever was left in her arms.

* * *

Lydia nearly leapt from her bed in shock. His skin had been deathly cold, whatever she thought she was searching for was no longer there. Worst of all were his eyes, those eyes seeing no more. With that thought she noticed her hand was outstretched, reaching for something; _someone_. Retracting it, she clamped her mouth shut as the overwhelming urge to let a bloodcurdling scream loose filled her chest.

In place of the air, her hand received the full blast of the wail. Attempting to dampen it had never worked before, but Lydia didn't want to believe this. She couldn't make herself believe Stiles was going to die.


End file.
